Foxfire, or The Strongest Sense of Memory
by Perfections-Cat
Summary: Sasuke finds himself entertaining thoughts of life among the living, of dreams that work between alltoo vivid recollections and the fanciful wishes of memory.


Foxfire, or The Strongest Sense of Memory

He had seen him. Only once more since that time, but not so long ago. Not that hehadn't remembered his face, or his voice, or his mannerisms. He hadn't forgotten much of anything really. An odd little quirk of his memory that stunned him every now and then with its visual acuity. Or perhaps that was only how he had perceived it to be. He was certain though that some things, like the scent of his skin, could not be made up by the mind.

He knew that only because his mind would have had him believe that Naruto smelled something like cinnamon and nutmeg, a wintery solstice sort of mix, infused with the smoldering hints of fire. The reality of it was that he smelled of salt, and flesh, and blood. It was a thick sort of scent, warm not unlike his fanciful recollections, but far more human. And it had a way of clinging to his own skin whenever they had trained, when they had last fought. Too much bodily contact; the sweat slicked across his clothes with every passing movement.

That was his one regret of their last meeting, the rain. Cursed waterfall that it was, not only taking with it the blood and dirt, but the fading essence of Naruto. By the time he had made it to Orochimaru's, all sensible traces of his closest friend had faded with stinging remorse.

Not that it had much effect on his remembrances. Sasuke had always thought the images would grow stale with time, and that by the two-year marker, Naruto would have become nothing more than a brown-edged, spider-veined ghost of a photo sitting beneath his other more prominent memories. Those deaths, after all, were the reason he had abandoned himself to this God-forsaken lifestyle, the road to becoming his generation's Cain.

But rather than sink into the depths of his mind, they lingered among those red-petaled dreams of death. A single reminder that he too had once been something more than this, had at least had that chance.

Sasuke had long since stopped trying to murder those orange and blue visions. The moment he gave into them was the moment his head began to create those odd versions of Naruto, like the one that smelled of warmth, the best sort of warmth that is found only after trekking through the deepest of colds.

It was then he began to have other odd musings about the blond as well. Like the blue fire of his eyes, or the careless curve of his lips after proclaiming his every intention to become Hokage. Or the heat of his body, which was honestly the oddest thought of them all, because it always led to that one moment at the start of their last fight where Naruto had topped him, which was then followed by that hard punch.

He would then remember the taste of blood - an all too common occurrence since he had arrived at the Sound - and figured that Naruto might taste something like that. He would never be sweet; all innocence between them had been lost by now. No, Naruto would taste of something raw and unrefined, something necessary to life.

Sasuke would always awaken, whether from sleep or a misty reverie, around that moment. Just a few mere seconds before flicking his tongue across the surface that was Naruto. He had wanted so badly to test that theory of taste. Unlike scent, he had no idea how Naruto would register upon his lips. And the reality of this desire would always leave him shaking, though from what Sasuke could not say. Perhaps a mix of horror and desire was the best way he could put it to himself, though he was constantly trying to convince himself it was simply from horror.

It was from one of those states that Sasuke had been startled out of during one of his patrolling missions. He had learned after the first few that Orochimaru simply sent him out on these details to give him something to do, when he couldn't be bothered to teach Sasuke something new.

The closer they got to the three year marker, the more he found himself delving into these sensory outreaches, as if he were anticipating the arrival of Naruto at any moment. So when the blond trailed into view not far from his tree-shrouded outpost, Sasuke nearly choked on his own battling desires – to flee from potential combat with one of the legendary Sannin or to lure Naruto away, if only for a moment's worth.

As his training would have it, neither won out. With every step they took, he failed to react in any way suitable to himself. Simply waited, crouched noiselessly amongst the branches as he had been instructed to do. Watch and report. After all, as Kabuto so often - and quite venomously at times - put it, he was far too precious to lose. Particularly at this point in time.

But the most awful sense of betrayal welled up in him, a hot mix of denial for all that he had felt, did feel upon seeing Naruto. Older now, yet still striking up a warmth within him. Sasuke panted quietly beneath his faux Anbu mask.

"Oi, Ero-sennin! What the hell is that?"

He nearly faltered as that voice rang out, deeper than he remembered, but still tinged with infallible determination. Strong and self-assured. Sasuke shivered as a cold sweep of ill-defined longing shuddered up his spine and crashed headlong into the back of his head. To avert his thoughts from those shards of want, he glanced in the direction of Naruto's pointing finger.

"Foxfire," came the gruff answer from somewhere further up the trail. "Naruto, I told you not to fall behind..."

"...the hell...foxfire...".

Sasuke felt a slight tug upon his lips, but held back the smile threatening to fly. Instead, he watched silently as the image of Naruto drew away, patches of orange and black and blond flashing in between the splatterings of leaves. Watched until only dying streaks of moonlight were left in his wake.

Far enough away now for the ninja in Sasuke to relax, he slipped the mask to the side of his head. His tongue flickered out, wicking away a bead of sweat. _Dobe, you are like foxfire. A shimmering display of life among the decaying._


End file.
